


Marked

by Zagzagael



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere around the beginning of Season Four? A Thursday night poker game at the MC Clubhouse. </p><p>No porn here, just boy fun times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

The Thursday night SAMCRO poker game had devolved to bachelors and die-hards, or simply die-hard bachelors. Chibs, Happy, Kozik, and Tig were the only players left at the table. Juice was passed out; face down, on one of the sofas pushed up against the far wall of the clubhouse, knuckles dragging on the cement floor. Chuckie had been keeping himself busy behind the bar and in the kitchen, and was now sitting on a stool, elbows on the bar behind him, sipping a Tequila Sunrise through a straw, watching the card game. A lone Prospect had slowed down but was still refilling beers, emptying ashtrays, and rolling dubes.

The conversation at the table had begun to blow hot and cold, the hour was late but cards were still being dealt, hands squinted at, rearranged, fanned and counted, gazes flickering from one another’s faces, back to the small pile of bills and change in the middle of the table. With the loss of players and the slow gain of inebriation, the game had become a simple 5 Card Draw. 

Tig was asking Happy for a new hand on the draw round, peering with disgust at what he had traded for. He drained what was left of his tumbler of whiskey and continued his attempt to change the subject from the Mayan preference for ape hangers to the crow eater he had banged the weekend before. “One tit, I’m telling you, one freakin’ tittie and this completely insane scar where the other one shoulda been.”

Kozik shook his head, studying his cards. “Damn, Tig, women get cancer. Get over it.”

“I’m listening,” countered Happy.

“It was a first for me. And I guess,” he leered, “I guess I have a scar thing, cuz damn.”

“You got off on it?” asked Happy and handed Chibs the cards he was asking for, his fingertips brushing into the other man’s palm.

“I got off all over it,” Trager responded and everyone but Happy groaned.

“Aye, shut it,” Chibs said and folded. “I’ve heard enough now about what gets you off.” 

Kozik interjected, “That’s gotta be rough, first you get cancer, but then you get mutilated.” 

“Mutilation,” Happy sneered pleasantly across the table at the blond, all feral teeth. 

“Jaysus,” Chibs smirked at him. “You, too?” 

Happy held his gaze for a long time before breaking it and looking back at his own hand. Chibs narrowed his eyes, then reached beneath Happy’s arm for the brand they both preferred. Without looking and as though it were second nature, Happy scooted the pack across to him. Chibs settled his hand over the smokes but didn’t light up.

“Anyway,” Tig threw his winning cards down, pulled the pot to him while Chibs began to collect the discards, sorting and straightening and shuffling, “what I’m trying to tell you boys is that I must have a thing for nasty scars cuz that messed-up shit seriously worked me up.”

“Or could you just have a thing for pussy no matter how many body parts are included?” Kozik asked, watching Chibs deal the next round, picking each card up and slotting it into place in his hand. “Or not included as the case may be.”

“There’s that.”

“Well, guess you’re in good company cuz Happy sounds into it, too,” Kozik indicated to Chibs that he wanted three new cards.

Happy nodded. “Yeah, scars do it for me. Definitely. The nastier the better. Point her out to me tomorrow night, Trager.”

“No way, man. You can have Chibs.”

The table went still and silent. Kozik laughed uncomfortably.

“Tae fuck you say?” Chibs asked, his previously relaxed demeanor stiffening into slightly deadly.

Tig leaned forward, all drunk bravado. “You heard me. This cat digs scars,” he pointed to Happy with his thumb, “you’re the poster boy for the scarred.” He pointed across the table with a finger. “That makes you two picture perfect for each other.” He rocked the chair onto its back legs and added a good-natured insult, “You fucking Mick.”

“Tig,” Kozik growled, warning him off, his gaze moving cautiously between each man.

Happy had climbed to his feet and was leaning on his fists, bending across the table, a slow deliberation, towards Tig who leaned further away, the corner of his lip drawn up.

Chibs’ mouth fell open and he closed it with an audible snap. He lowered his cards face-down to the table, perhaps the game could be saved. He looked up at the menace of a man beside him, holding him back with a shake of his head, before turning his full attention to Trager. “This just gets better and better. Wha’ did you call me?” His voice had become a fast moving bomb in search of its target. “I think you might be feckin’ confused about who I am and who I shag, you bag o’ shite Canuck.”

“Whatever the hell you are.” Tig rolled his eyes dramatically and added with a Lucky Charms accent, “Mick, jock, mate, suit yourself.” He sat the chair back down heavily on the floor, making a pretense of studying the cards in his hand. “Funny how you’re more pissed about me calling you Irish and a scarred fuck, then being told you’re a queer. I get it. We’re not supposed to talk about your face. We don’t wanta hurt your _wittle_ feelings.”

Chibs’ expression had changed from perturbed to seriously enraged. His eyes were narrowed slits, his lips a thin tight line, accentuating the curving scars in both cheeks. “I’m gonna carve my name into your effin mug, Trager, and no one - bloke or betty - will want to talk about your face much less look at your feckin gob. Little kids and auld bitties will cry like babies when they get a load of your puss.” He was rising from the table, threatening and serious. “You can spend your time hamshankin’ in the mirror.”

Happy straightened to his full height, a splay-fingered hand held up to Tig, the universal sign for back the fuck off. Then he took a long sideways step up against Chibs who saw him coming and leapt across the table for Trager. The table up-ended, cards and money, whisky and beer scattering and crashing to the floor in an explosion of breaking glass and clanging coins. The group went melee, shouts and grunts, and then a sharp hiss of male pain. 

Happy had followed the trajectory of Chibs’ body, one arm snaking around his neck and shoulders, the other hand planted on the floor, a shard of broken bottle slicing up into his palm, but he leveraged the heavier man sideways, pulling him into his chest and rolling him away from Tig who was swinging wildly. Lowman closed his eyes and trusted that Kozik was dealing with Trager.

Chibs exhaled hard as Happy brought his cut hand up and grabbed both of his own wrists to pull him into an unbreakable embrace. Telford scrabbled with his hands against the iron forearms and came away blood-covered. 

“Wha’ the fuck?” he yelled, looking at his hands. 

“It’s me, brother,” Happy said softly beneath him.

Tig and Kozik were shouting strings of looping profanities at one another. Kozik had reached into the brawling duo and hauled Tig up by the back of his cut and was now shaking him, pushing him hard, not letting go, towards the door of the clubhouse. Trager was tripping quickly ahead of him.

Chibs watched Kozik follow Tig into the parking lot and then tapped out on Happy’s hip. “I’m good. Let me up. Lemme the fuck up so I can see what you did to yerself.”

Happy released him and rolled back onto the floor, holding his hand up and squinting at it while droplets of blood dripped off the edge of his palm and splattered into his face.

Chibs turned and squatted down beside the other man, taking his wrist in his hand and bringing it towards the light. He whistled low. “You’re going to need sewing.”

“Naw.”

Chibs shrugged. “Let’s wash it off and take a look, but it’s bleeding like hell. It’s deep.” He stood and pulled Happy up. “Look at this damned mess.” He kicked at the wet floor littered with broken glass. “Prospect, clean this shite up!” he yelled over to the bar.

Happy was looking at his hand, the blood a steady dripping now, onto the floor. “Stings like a motherfucker.”

Chibs nodded. “C’mon. Kitchen.” In the kitchen he turned on the faucet, testing the water, then reached out for Happy’s hand again. He pulled it beneath the stream, bending to look closer, holding tight when Happy protested. “An’ here I thought you liked pain.”

“Handing it out.”

“Make a fist. Good. Lessee you move your fingers. Count like this, with your thumb. Alright. No nerve damage. But it’s not gonna stop bleeding without some stitches.”

“Damn, Chibs!” Happy yanked his hand back as Chibs poked his finger into the wound. 

“You’re a feckin’ nancy. Sac up and lemme look. We cannae leave any glass in there.” He finished his inspection and grabbed at the roll of paper towels, yanking off several feet before he ripped them loose. He wrapped the paper around the hand and held it above Happy’s head, his wrist still tight in his grip. “Keep that elevated like tha’. We’re going to the ER.”

“No.” Happy tried to pull his hand free. Chibs tightened his grip. 

They looked at one another, dark eyes fast on dark eyes. 

“Right, then we’re calling Tara.”

Happy pulled a face. “Jax’s old lady? A girl? No.” He took another step closer. “You do it. I know that you can.”

Chibs smiled crookedly. “I can.” He cocked an eyebrow, nodded, his grip loosening, his hand sliding down the inside of Happy’s forearm, dragging the tips of his fingers along the lines of drying blood. “It’ll hurt like a bitch but I’ll make certain sure you like it.”

The two men were standing very close, breathing in deeply and exhaling through their mouths. 

“Promise?” Happy mouthed silently.

Chibs smiled and looked away. “I’ll go find what I need, right.” Suddenly, he pulled him into an embrace, reaching up for the back of his neck and holding his head fast against his own. “Thanks, Hap. For having my back.”

Happy nodded against the side of Chibs’ face. “Anytime. That was out of line.”

He shrugged and let him go, a reluctant stepping away. “That minky bastard is always out o’ line. Daft to let him get my bollocks twisted up like that.”

“I shouldn’t have encouraged him.” 

Chibs looked at the other man, his gaze intent. He nodded slightly. At the sound of breaking glass both men turned to look out into the clubhouse where Chuckie and the Prospect were sweeping up the mess. 

Chibs snorted. “Juice is still snoring like a tranquilized moose.” He walked out of the kitchen and disappeared down the hallway. The medkit was in the dorm room.

 

Standing in the bathroom, he smiled to himself when he heard the door in the bedroom shut. He spied the kit up on a shelf beside extra rolls of toilet paper and a ratty folded towel. Just then the bathroom light switched off and he laughed, low and masculine.

“What’s funny?” Happy’s gravelly voice sounded out in the dark space.

“You, wha’ else?”

“ _Hamshanking_?” Now Happy was laughing.

The resonance of his crushed rock vocal cords filled Chibs’ ears and his eyes shuddered closed in pure physical response. He didn’t need to be warned to be ready for Happy’s body to slam into the back of him. He put one hand up quickly to save his nose from being smashed into the wall, but the feel of the other man pushing him hard into the sheetrock was worth the momentary loss of breath. He sucked air, but Happy wasn’t slowing down, brooking no quarter, giving him no time to breathe. Strong hands on his hips, pressing him roughly against the wall. Happy was reaching for his belt, wide palms cupping his hipbones. Chibs tipped his head back as Happy grunted against the nape of his neck.

“Let me round,” he said, finally filling his lungs.

Then the other man’s hands were on either side of his head. He could smell the blood on the soaked toweling, feel the paper he had wrapped around Happy’s hand brushing against the side of his face. He turned and was rewarded with a fully jacked male animal on high-octane. The entire length of his solid body fast and hard and furious against his own, rocking his shoulders back against the wall, pressing into his hips with his own need. Chibs wasn’t one to be man-handled and he reached down and grabbed the sharp jutting hipbones of the other man slamming their bodies together. 

“We cannae do this here, brotha,” his voice tremored out from between his lips as Happy tongued a hot stripe the length of the left-side of his Glasgow grin before burying his face beneath his jaw, biting at his windpipe, his carotid.

“Yeah. I know.”

Chibs’ body responded to the other man’s voice more than the masculine press. He rolled the back of his head against the wall, attempting to slow his heartbeat, then Happy bent his knees and slotted one thigh between his own and Chibs felt as though he’d been hit with a bolt of lightning. He was electrocuted by lust, an overwhelming storm of desire, dark thunderclouds dimming his vision. He actually gasped and Happy responded with a laughing growl of satisfaction, running his chapped lips across Chibs mouth before stepping back out of the heat he had generated. Another step and then the light was flicked on. Chibs smiled wryly, watching the other man duck out of the bathroom. He heard the door open in the dorm room and he listened close to the sound of Happy’s booted feet in the hallway. 

He walked to the sink and turned on the cold spigot. He filled his cupped palms and splashed his face with the bracing water, shook his head, eyes closed. When he opened them, he sluiced the water off his skin with the edges of his hands, leaned into the mirror, turning his head one way then the other. He reached up and with a fingertip traced the shorter scar on his right cheek, tilted his head and traced the longer scar on his left, nearly up to his ear. He tipped his head up and smiled to himself, tracing the indentations of Happy’s teeth, bitten into the skin of his throat.


End file.
